Disciple
by QuintossentialGray
Summary: Angela Petrelli was Adam Monroe's greatest disciple, and now she's looking to bring him a new pupil from this generation. She thinks Sylar would be perfect as Adam's newest disciple but Adam has ideas of his own for her son, Peter. Adlar, Padam, Mylar
1. Chapter 1

Patient Zero...patient zero, it was a title that was far too easily given. A long, shaped, well-manicured fingernail tapped on those words contained in a plain manila folder seized from Chandra Suresh's office in India. The Company of course had an agent sitting in on each of Suresh's lectures and he was able to obtain some key information by breaking into the man's office. Rich, deep crimson gleamed as each motion bent the light from the chandelier off of the acrylic. Crisp papers had been shuffled through softly over the past half hour. Angela wondered what made Dr. Chandra Suresh so damn sure that this ...Gabriel Gray, was worthy of being designated with such a title.

After the files were seized and delivered to her, Angela had gone through them. She was very intrigued by the so-called 'new generation' of specials. Not least of all because her eldest son, Nathan, could found on the list of names in front of her. For many years, Angela had seen so many specials come and go. After being part of the Company since its inception, Angela wanted to see a truly extraordinary ability. No, a truly extraordinary person.

Not since she met a man named Adam Monroe had Angela been inspired. He was her mentor for years, he taught her so much about the ugly yet necessary truths within humanity. Once, after he was incarcerated, she tried to free him. She would have been successful in doing so but Adam wouldn't leave. He told his most loyal disciple that the time was not yet right for his release, for the pattern to reach a fever pitch that required the world to be saved from itself.

Until that time, Angela was to pass on her knowledge to another young special like was once was herself. In doing so, she would bring Adam another disciple.

""Two o' clock...Right...I agree Chandra...I'll see you there."

A pale hand stood out against the smooth surface of a cream or even bone-colored rotary-style phone. Shrill chinging echoed in the small dim back room of Gray and Sons when Gabriel clicked the phone back into its cradle. Sighing as he stood up and paced the aged, creaking wooden floor. Maybe, today really would be the day. Together they had experienced the hopeful optimism at the start of whatever test Gabriel was going under that day. And together, when Gabriel displayed no fascinating abnormalities, they felt a shared twinge of regret.

Pangs that grew each day into a boiling frustration. Had Chandra been wrong about this man? Now every time he spoke with him to confirm his latest appointment, a palpable hesitation came through on the other end of the line. When, as a young boy, Gabriel fantasized about a stranger coming to him with news of his importance, he never once conjured up such an infuriating ending. No, sorry Mr. Gray, a mistake was made and you really do have nothing unique about you. Now go and repair timepieces in your father's former shop until your heart gives out one day as you sit alone in your sad apartment. Be a face, nameless, blue in an ever-moving crowd.

Hands trembled and shook at the thought of such rejection coming from Chandra's lips. Giving a person such hope then taking it away was surely the cruelest thing Gabriel could think of. Despite what every examination and battery of tests concluded, Gabriel felt something in his skin, in his brain that was close to breaking through to the surface. Some finger on a metaphysical switch, applying pressure until one day everyone would see that Gabriel Gray could be so much more than the life he currently led.

Lost in a stream of thoughts he never heard the clanging sound of the brass bell that hung from the shop's door. But wait, Gabriel moved and glanced at the rich, mahogany grandfather clock propped by the doorway of his private back room. It was still his lunch hour. He knew that the little hands on the clock drawing of his open/close sign were switched to one pm. Perhaps he'd set the sign and forgotten to lock the heavy shop door. This whole business with Suresh had left him scatterbrained apparently. He stepped back into the actual shop and looked around. Soon, the person who intruded upon his personal time came into view.

Before him stood an older, sophisticated woman. Dark hair that was expertly coiffed, sharp green eyes that even now were appraising the tall lanky man. His severely parted hair, rich brown eyes, and he wore a blue button-up whose collar poked out of the v-neck of his sweater vest.

She was in a long, black, impeccably tailored coat buttoned up to the collar. Mother-of-Pearl buttons that remained fastened despite the slight stuffiness in the air that the shop sometimes took on. In her leather gloved hands rested a small pendulum clock encased in a piece of glass shaped like an upside-down chalice. For a moment, it was all Gabriel could look at. He snapped back to with the annoyed sound of a throat being cleared, the clock shifting in the woman's hands. Slowly, he blinked and glanced at a different clock, a Russian cuckoo style wall clock, to affirm the time. Just as he thought, Gabriel stepped forward.

"I know the door wasn't locked, but the shop is closed at the moment. It's closed for the hour. If you could please come back at the top of the hour."

A bemused smile lifted the corner of ruby red lips. Gabriel wondered if all women of a certain age and class wore that same shade, it always seemed like he was it mostly on more mature women. She stepped forward all the way to his work desk. Soon, the glistening golden clock was placed down on the surface of his desktop. Her arms crossed in front of her as she looked at the man before her.

"The pendulum of this clock has a tiresome habit of sticking. For hours at a time, it will just stop. Now I did not come all the way out to Brooklyn to sit and wait for you to decide that you're off the clock. I expect to leave this with you and when I return from my errands, that pendulum will swing and continue to do so. Is that understood, Mr. Gray?"

Taken aback was the best way to describe the look on Gabriel's face. Silently, he looked back down at the clock. Sure enough, the pendulum was stuck in mid-swing inside of its glass case. Thin lips pursed together as Gabriel reached for and put on a pair of custom-made multi-lens glasses. He sat down and deftly opened up the case then revealed the mechanical innards of the piece. Gabriel made like he was toying with pieces, but really he was focusing. Waiting for that perfect Gestalt moment where the patterns revealed themselves and everything would become clear.

At least he had one talent that somewhat set him apart. Angela slid her soft black gloves off her hands while she took in the sight of the man. One look at his flickering eyes revealed that though his hands were still, he was very much at work. She'd never seen anything like it as he mentally deconstructed the clock. After a few minutes, Gabriel glanced back up at the woman staring at him. His left hand slid the multi-lens glasses off then replaced them with his own dark-rimmed standard pair.

"I can have it ready for you by the time you return. It's actually a rather simple fix despite the seemingly complicated appearance of its inner workings."

Angela nodded curtly and started to put her gloves back on. Her hands smoothed down over the front of her coat as she thought. Chandra Suresh's file had absolutely no information regarding Gray's possible ability. From what she'd witnessed here...it seemed to have something to do with an advanced analyzation process. That or he was just some marginally talented man who was a potential error within a list of names.

"I'll return later. When you're working...do try not to scratch or crack the clock. It was my grandmothers and I would appreciate if when I collect it from you, it remained in pristine condition."

It was difficult for Gabriel not to scoff in the woman's face. How dare she assume him to be so clumsy? The chair he sat in squeaked as he stood back up and walked toward her.

"I assure you, the condition of your timepiece will not be altered. However, ..."

He turned and grabbed a slip from a neat stack of papers on the edge of his desk.

"I am going to need you to fill out this work order, at least a name if nothing else. If I'm not mistaken you never offered me one."

She turned and started to walk back out of the shop waving her hand in a dismissive manner.

"Angela Petrelli. Now, I trust you should get to work in order to finish in time. I'm not going to pay if you don't have it ready as I requested."

Another swing of the door and a clang of the bell and she was gone. His eyes fixed again upon the open clock, the broken open clock. Once he had his multi-lens glasses back on he set to work.

Six Months Later

Stacks of files completely took over Thomson's desk. Ever since the threat known for the longest time as 'Sylar' was captured and detained in Odessa, Texas, it seemed like the work piled on to an obscene extent. There were case files, crime scene reports, and lab analyses to go through and sign off on. It seemed this...Gabriel Gray...was an interesting evolutionary occurrence. Somehow, he extended himself beyond his base ability. He took on the abilities of his victims yet he was certainly not genetically coded as an empath. Thomson sighed and looked at the the black phone he pulled over from the edge of his desk. Any minute now, he would receive the phone call to decide Gray's fate.

He nearly startled in his swivel chair as the phone shrilly chirped. After the first ring, Thomson picked it up and received the verdict. Seven minutes later, he hung the phone back up again. Loyalty to the principles and decisions of the Company was one of Thomson's greatest assets. Quickly, he snatched up that same phone and called the agent responsible for Sylar's incarceration. Bennett was easily less than thrilled that the order was made to keep his daughter's attempted murderer alive no matter what it took to do so.

Miles away from Texas in Manhattan, Angela sat on the white and red couch in front of the fireplace. She sipped from a glass of Merlot as she glanced over the file on Sylar. The watchmaker from Brooklyn remade himself into a threat. Many lives lost at his hand; a potential for great power unlocked within an ordinary man. After careful consideration, she made the decision to keep him alive. It could be considered his first test of his true worth if he managed to keep a hold of himself within those walls. Perhaps this new generation had provided Angela and by extension, Adam, a disciple unlike any other.


	2. Chapter 2

"...Might actually do some good before you die..."

The smirk on his face disappeared as quickly as it came as Sylar stepped toward his traitorous former comrade, Mohinder. Glittering dark orbs lit up a pale drawn face as the man before him gulped and trembled.

"Starting with that list..."

If there was going to be a time to act at all, Mohinder decided it had to be this. His lower back met the edge of his desk and nimble caramel fingers wrapped around the neck of one of his father's antique lamps. A twitch of Mohinder's shoulder, apparent even under his western style shirt, was all it took to give his plan away. Before he could even come close to connecting glass with skin, Sylar flicked his fingers and the lamp went flying down to the floor. Light flickered from the bulb as the twisted remains of the lamp rested in a heap on the rug.

However, Mohinder couldn't just stop and let the man slaughter him without a fight so as soon as Sylar's attention was on that flickering bulb, he struck. His hands pushed hard against Sylar's black t-shirt and the man was somewhat taken aback as he stumbled. Mohinder broke into a run across his own living room.

The sound of desperate panting mingled with a low, dark chuckle.

"Oh Mohinder...that wasn't very nice. If you're not going to play fair..."

He swung his hand around to line up with Mohinder's back. Fully extended until he jerked his arm back, eyes narrowed. Before Mohinder could even realize it, his face met the floor. Lips split as they burst against the hard wood floor. Blood trickled down as he groaned, his eyes winced shut while he rolled onto his back. When he opened his eyes again, the man...his father's murderer stood looming over him. That smug smirk back on his face as he knelt and motioned his hand; Mohinder found himself on his knees at Sylar's feet. A hand wrapped itself in those dark, tempting curls and tugged him up so that their faces were mere centimeters apart. Teeth visible past thin lips as he whispered out in a hissing tone.

"...then neither will I."

Flickers of light lit up Mohinder's terrified face as Sylar moved his free hand to his jeans. Denim rubbed up against his skin as he slid to the cold button, opening it as he smiled down at the perfectly immobile man below him.

"See, Mohinder when you and I were freezing together outside of that motel in Montana...I could definitely feel something. An innate connection that I had never really had before in my life, with anyone. It was clear to me that you felt it too. I know you felt it too Mohinder. But..."

Sylar sighed and moved his hand down his zipper, a new segment of metal track unlocked with each second of his extended exhale. Mohinder interrupted as his eyes stared at Sylar's now open front of his jeans.

"But I found out the truth, is that what you were saying? That you brutally murdered my father, that you perverted his research for your own sick quest for power? I never felt anything for you. You were mistaken, at best you were just a voice in the car that didn't belong to the radio. Don't delude yourself into think--"

Before his thought could be fully expressed a harsh pale blur went across his eye-line and instantly the rich nauseating taste of blood filled Mohinder's mouth. A coppery sting that could almost be mistaken for tasting sweet the longer it rested on the tongue. He would have knelt forward but that was an impossibility with the invisible hand clenching at his body, keeping him still. Crimson spat out of already darkened, bruised lips.

"I don't appreciate you lying to me Mohinder. That Dale woman was right, I can hear the tiniest changes in a mood. And you? The way your heart is beating right now is _such_ a wonderful concoction of fear...awe...and..."

He leaned in again, this time his lips at Mohinder's ear as he whispered in the last word.

"...lust."

Sylar let his lips brush across Mohinder's earlobe as he pulled his head back away again. His eyes glanced behind him to the desk. Oh the list...it was so close to him now. But first, he had to attend the man at his feet. With his free hand, the other still wrapped tightly in those lush curls, Sylar reached down and tugged his jeans and boxers down his legs some.

A stunned gasp escaped those bruised lips as Mohinder renewed any and all attempts to struggle. All he could do was stare in shock at the sight of Sylar's erection right in front of his face. Smooth, pinkish skin that had an unearthly look to it in the shadows of the room, the light had stopped flickering a moment ago. His inquisitive eyes couldn't stop themselves from roaming over his shaft and to the dark patch of thick curly hair nestled at the bottom of the path of hairs 

trailing down his stomach. After his gaze lingered down there, perhaps a little too long, his brown eyes met Sylar's own.

"Y-you...cannot be serious. That's...depraved! I refuse to!"

Every part of his face was twisted up to match the disgusted sneer on those bloody lips. But Sylar merely shrugged and with the aid of his telekinetic grip, forced Mohinder's body to bend down.

"Now then, Mohinder...if you can't feel the connection we had together...finding them. Then I'll make you feel something else. Open your mouth."

Flat-out refusal to part his lips was what Mohinder offered Sylar as a reply. A low chuckle as Sylar moved his free hand to Mohinder's face to graze down his stubble-laced jaw. Without warning, Sylar grasped his hand with his thumb and index finger on either side of Mohinder's cheek. Pressing in tightly enough so that he could feel his fingers could rest underneath the edge of Mohinder's top half of his jaw forced his mouth open with a pained grunt.

Sylar moved and kept Mohinder's head still with his telekinesis, letting go of those curls and using that hand to guide the tip of his cock into Mohinder's mouth. A soft whimper was heard as the tip went past his lips and teeth and down, shaft sliding further and further. Moaning softly, Sylar moved his hand back down to graze the pad of his thumb over Mohinder's cheek.

"Now then...Dr. Suresh...I'm going to let go of your face and when I do I'm going to hope for your sake that you don't dare to put your teeth anywhere near me. Is that understood?"

A muffled grunt and a blink of his eyes assured Sylar that Mohinder wouldn't try anything. So he relaxed and groaned out his left hand moving back to those curls and tightening again as he forced Mohinder to bob up and down on him.

Sylar closed his eyes and moaned as the tongue that lashed out against him earlier instead lapped at him. Twisting and flicking as Mohinder hoped that it would just end quickly, that Sylar would kill him after this so that he wouldn't have to live with the shame of giving pleasure to his father's killer. With each stroke of his tongue against firm smooth flesh he felt that the shame had started to boil up and turned into a rage once more. How dare this man assume that he could just treat people like this, powers or not.

Slowly, a grin spread over his face as Sylar bucked his hips and shoved himself down more ,filling Mohinder's mouth. A choke constricted the muscles of Mohinder's throat around Sylar's cock. Sucking harder as he kept up his breathing through his nose the best he could. Salty precum mixed with dried blood to make him gag even harder than before as his sucking motions made the liquid drip easily down his throat. Sylar panted softly as he grunted again, slowly thrusting back and forth inside of Mohinder's warm, wet hole.

Mohinder couldn't take the taste in his mouth as he retched hard once more but this time, he succeeded in his teeth sinking right into Sylar's quivering flesh. With a backward thrust and a slick 'pop' sound, Sylar withdrew his now bleeding cock from the man's mouth. He roared out a guttural cry then stumbled back several steps wincing. Oh that son of a bitch he'll pay for this. His hand lifted and a chair slammed against the apartment's door. Another flick of his wrist and in his rage a different lamp went crashing to the floor, books came off the shelf as they scattered on the floor and the iv stand tipped over and punctured from hitting a shard of glass on the floor. It left a small but growing puddle on the hard wood floor.

As soon as he could breathe again after gasping and coughing a few times, Mohinder took advantage and tried to run off. To his shock and complete relief he found that Sylar's hold on him was broken. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet and tried to run until that chair slammed to the door. He turned and went the other way trying to at least get some distance from the man whose powers were erratic at best right now from how many of Mohinder's belonging were being 

chucked around the apartment. However before he could race off to the bedroom and barricade himself in, he found himself being dragged back to the man.

Sylar carefully pulled his boxers and jeans back up all the way while he effortlessly kept Mohinder at bay. When he was face to face with him again he scowled and grabbed Mohinder's shirt collar, tugging him closer still.

"I was just going to have you and then take the list after but now I'm thinking that I need to change that plan. No, Mohinder you're going to be mine...you're going to come with me as I move down that list of names, one by one. You'll be all mine to do whatever I please with and trust me Mohinder I'm not--"

He stopped in mid-sentence as he heard footsteps. Sure and steady right outside the door. Sylar smirked and looked toward the door then at Mohinder. With a flick of the wrist, Mohinder found himself looking down on Sylar and the carnage he wrecked in his place as his back was pinned firmly to the ceiling. He groaned hard his body ached from earlier and his jaw and throat were sore. Blood dripped down from his lips and they were now slightly puffed from the bruising blows they suffered at having met both the floor and the back of Sylar's hand.

Sylar smirked up at him, he was both helpless but easily seen as a warning that whomever stepped through that door would soon regret it. He tilted his head and put his finger to his pursed lips then slowly walked to the hall as he would wait to strike at the most opportune moment. The door to Mohinder's apartment slowly swung open as Peter Petrelli stepped in. He halted as he looked down to realize there was a knocked over chair against the bottom of that door.

As he stepped in, he took in the sight of the broken furniture, the busted lamps, and the utter silence in the room. Peter found it to be rather disquieting that there seemed to be no one around but at struggle had certainly happened.

"Suresh?..."

Peter stepped over an...is that an IV bag stand? Something bad must have happened here...he figured he had to call out again, see if Mohinder was hurt and couldn't move somewhere.

"It's Peter Petrelli."

So Peter cautiously walked around the living room trying to peer through the mess. None of this was right. He walked further into the room not even noticing the door creaked as it shut back up again.

"Mohinder!?"

Suddenly he felt something irritating his scalp. Peter reached up and scratched his fingernails through his hair briskly. When he pulled his hand away again he felt something sticky on his fingertips. He flinched as he felt that whatever it was it dripped again. By instinct, he looked up and gaped at the sight of Mohinder Suresh somehow stuck to the ceiling, clothes slightly torn, and his face bruised and bloodied. The substance on his hand was Mohinder's blood. Before he could even put everything together in his own mind Peter heard Mohinder gasp out a hoarse one word warning.

"...Sylar..."

Peter's heart skipped at the name and a flash went through his head of when he saved the cheerleader, Claire from that man. He wondered if the man was in fact still there and what would 

happen if they had to face off again. As the man silently appeared behind him, Peter would soon find out.


End file.
